


The Scientist in the Tan Jacket

by nameless_bliss



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Carlos is the Man in the Tan Jacket, Cecil has Vitiligo, Drabble Collection, Ficlet Collection, Gen, Kevin has Vitiligo, M/M, Multiple Timelines, Night Vale Community Radio, Non-Chronological, POC Cecil, POC Janice, POC Kevin, Present Tense, Sentient Vitiligo, more tags as needed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-20 19:44:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2440631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nameless_bliss/pseuds/nameless_bliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The light of the Desert Otherworld turns everything translucent. Everything, including a brave Scientist. Time has split (because time doesn't work), and Carlos makes his way back to Night Vale only to find that there is so little of him left, people forget him the moment he turns away, remembering nothing but his labcoat, once white, now stained tan by the desert.</p><p>A series of non-chronological drabbles and ficlets detailing Carlos's time as the Man in the Tan Jacket.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. January, 2013

_“The Sheriff’s Secret Police has just issued an important request related to our earlier story. They ask that all Night Vale citizens be on the lookout for a Man in a Tan Jacket, carrying a deerskin suitcase. He is about five or six foot something, probably with hair, and normal human features.”_

 

Carlos laughs.

He doesn’t really want to, but he can’t help himself.

He still doesn’t understand. The reports come in, and they all say the same thing, but he hasn’t quite worked it out yet. He thinks he’s accepted it. He vaguely remembers the first day he heard about the mysterious Man in the Tan Jacket. He doesn’t remember where he was - or what he was doing - when he heard the report.

That’s not a good sign. He’ll have to hide out for a while. He can’t have the Carlos from this time and space sneak up on him. Even though he wouldn’t remember it after, it would still be a difficult conversation.

He isn’t ready for that yet.

But he’s still laughing.

“Five or six foot something, probably with hair, and normal human features.”

He says it out loud between breathless chuckles.

Because this is Night Vale.

Because this is Cecil’s radio show.

His Cecil.

So it shouldn’t be surprising.

It shouldn’t surprise him at all to hear that even though no one can remember him anymore, even though no one knows who he is the second he turns away, they still remember his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! This is the first in a series of small snippets of Carlos in the timeline as the Man in the Tan Jacket. The chapters will not be in chronological order, but the chapter titles will tell roughly what time it is for Tan Jacket Carlos.  
> I LOVE hearing from anyone who reads my fic. Please feel free to come hang out with me at my personal tumblr [blog](http://my-nameless-bliss.tumblr.com/)!  
> This work has a companion fic: ["Translucence"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2434178)  
> Disclaimer: I own nothing of Night Vale, or its characters. I just do this because this headcanon is eating away at my soul and I prefer experiences like that to be shared.


	2. March, 2013

“Oh, Carlos!”

_Fuck_.

Carlos turns slowly, trying to figure out how to pretend he didn’t hear, to keep walking like nothing happened. No one was supposed to see him. He’s on a tiny side-street next to the Ralph’s.

Why did Cecil have to come here?

He knows there’s no escape. He turns fully, braces himself, and lifts his face.

Cecil is giddy. The light patches on his dark face morph into shooting stars, dancing across blushing cheeks. The third eye represented on his forehead twitches, starting to form a heart, before bashfully returning to its regular shape. Everything about him is equally delighted and anxious.

It cuts Carlos deeper than he could have imagined.

“Hello, Cecil,” he finally manages. It’s woefully inadequate. He hasn’t seen Cecil in weeks, purposefully avoiding the times and places they are likely to bump into each other. These days it feels like he hides from Cecil even more than he hides from this other Carlos.

“Ah… oh, Carlos… you… you sound different.”

Carlos fights the sigh that’s prepared on his lips. He forces a smile, and recites. “I changed out my vocal chords. Just in case.” He’s explained this so many times. Each one, forgotten.

“Oh! That’s very smart of you! You sound… you sound lovely. I mean, uh... how… how are you doing?”

The Voice of Night Vale falters in the mere presence of one lowly scientist. Carlos can hardly stand it. He wants to throw Cecil to the ground. To pick him up and carry him away. To throw his arms around him until they forget that anything else exists.

But that would be too much.

Cecil wouldn’t understand.

Because for Cecil, none of that has happened. Yet.

“I’m alright, thank you. I can’t talk long, unfortunately. I’ve been doing some very important experiments out in the Sand Wastes.”

Cecil beams. “I didn’t want to say anything, but your labcoat does look rather… sandy.”

Carlos makes himself smile. “Laundry isn’t a high priority for a scientist. Now, I’m very sorry, but I really should-”

“Your hair is growing out nicely!” Cecil takes a step toward him. He makes a face, putting a hand to his mouth as though he hadn’t meant to say that. “It… I mean it-it’s-” He stammers as though his voice is an untrained hindrance. “It looks longer than the last time I saw you. Fuller.”

Carlos would be worried. But things like this won’t make a difference. It’s not strong enough for him to remember.

“Did you try that shampoo? The amber and ginger root?”

This time, Carlos’s smile is completely genuine. He had forgotten that the shampoo he’d been using for years was originally Cecil’s recommendation. How had he forgotten that? “Yes, I have. It’s fantastic. Thank you for suggesting it.”

Cecil’s blush radiates. His third eye creeps back into a heart-like shape, unable to resist. “It was nothing. Now… you go back to your Very Important Science. I don’t want to keep you.”

“Thanks, I probably should be going. It was nice to see you, Cecil. It’s always nice to see you.”

Cecil is completely incapable of responding. He turns to leave.

“Cecil!” Carlos has reached out and grabbed his arm before he realizes what he’s doing. He needs to keep Cecil looking at him, needs to keep him from forgetting, for just a few more moments. “I just want to say… thank you. Thank you for everything you do for me. Everything. The little details, right down to the shampoo, they’ve helped me to feel at home here. You help me so much, Cecil. I don’t tell you that enough. But it means so much to me. Thank you.”

He lets go. He turns away. He practically runs to the nearest corner.

He hopes that if he moves quickly enough, Cecil will forget what’s happened, but still be able to feel the rush of joy that made hearts dance across his face. 


	3. September, 2014

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Chapter contains spoilers for the live episode: "The Debate".

Carlos does not like Kevin.

He hasn’t told Cecil that Kevin is here, in the Desert Otherworld. After everything that’s happened, he knows how much Cecil would worry. How angry Cecil would be. And there’s nothing to be done, so there’s no point. He convinces himself that it’s not lying. He just hasn’t mentioned it yet. There are many things about life in this desert that he hasn’t mentioned. This is just another detail that hasn’t come up.

And hopefully never will.

It’s not like Carlos ever _wants_ to talk about Kevin.

It’s so unsettling to see him. To see someone who looks so much like Cecil, his Cecil, yet somehow be the least similar person imaginable.

“...don’t you think so, Carlos?”

Carlos flinches at the sound of his name.

His fingers falter on the danger meter in his hands.

Was he supposed to have been listening this whole time?

Kevin never stops talking.

“Sorry, what?”

He needs to be polite. They both want the same thing: to go home. They need to work together. It doesn’t make any sense to fight out here. Still, civility is surprisingly difficult.

“You never seem to listen, do you? Silly.” Kevin chuckles.

Carlos takes a deep breath.

“Anyway, I was _just saying_ , I hadn’t seen so many Strex employees mobilized since that slight issue we had with the Deer last year.”

“The deer?” Carlos doesn’t know why he’s biting. A prompting like that could keep Kevin talking for days.

And that’s not even an exaggeration.

“Silly Carlos, you don’t listen _and_ you don’t remember!” Kevin laughs loudly. Louder than it is necessary to laugh. “The Deer that Strex Corp so helpfully sent to Night Vale. You _must_ remember, they all say you’re so smart!”

Carlos looks up.

Kevin still looks exactly the same as he did the day their paths first crossed in this hellscape.

Meanwhile, Carlos’s beard feels as long as the rest of his wild hair, and he’s becoming convinced that he’ll never be able to wash the dust stains out of his labcoat.

Kevin smiles at him.

That’s all Kevin does.

That’s all Kevin can do.

There are patches, streaks of cream-colored skin on his ebony body. Just like Cecil. But unlike Cecil, Kevin’s stay put. Carlos realizes that’s actually a more normal manifestation, but after so long with a radio host whose skin dances with the artwork of his emotions, the stagnancy is unsettling.

Kevin smiles at Carlos, even when his mouth is a flat line. The skin around his mouth is always lighter, drained of pigment. Always in the shape of a smile. There are suns permanently glowing on either cheek, and another on his forehead. No matter what expression Kevin is making, it’s still a smile.

Carlos hates it.

“I don’t… no… I _do_ remember something about deer…” The strangeness of Night Vale had numbed him to the point where one extraordinary event blends with another until his memories are a fantastical jumble. “What did they… they hit people and it did something…”

“Hm, you’re obviously not as smart as they say you are,” Kevin says, cheerful as ever.

Carlos bites the inside of his cheek. There’s no point in fighting.

“It was just a little harmless time travel. Personally, I think it was an overreaction for Strex to terminate the process. Barely half the town was affected-”

“Time travel?” Carlos sits up straighter, danger meter dangling by his side. “How did they do that?”

Kevin waves his hand dismissively. Cecil gestures the same way. Carlos pretends he doesn’t notice. “I know nothing about engineering. Something to do with the skin.”

“What happened to the deer? Did Strex destroy them all?”

“Of course not. They were valuable. The population in Night Vale was destroyed, but the stock in Desert Bluffs wasn’t touched. They still wander through dimensions every now and then.”

Carlos stands up. Time travel. Dimensional travel. That would change everything. He’d be free. He’d go back, he’d change things, he’d get back to Night Vale. He could fix everything. He could get home.

He needs to go home.

He’s going to go home.

He’s going to get his hands on one of those deer.


	4. February, 2013

The wheel rolls right over his foot.

“Sorry! Sorry sorry sorry!”

Carlos’s exclamation of pain is replaced by one of surprise. He disentangles himself from the collision and takes a few steps back, looking over his accidental attacker. “Janice!”

Janice looks up at him, dark eyes still wide with apology and embarrassment. Her mouth is still running off a stream of  “I’m sorry!” and “Did I hurt you?” and “That was my fault!” She finally stops when she gets a good look at Carlos. She looks him over carefully, her small face crumpled with confusion. She wants to say something, it’s clear, but she says something else instead. “This is a new chair. The wheels are way bigger than I’m used to. Still getting the hang of it. Sorry.”

Carlos glances down at the wheelchair. It’s missing the bright decorations, the colorful graffiti and embellishment that he knows (and had even contributed to, drawing a complicated molecule on the right armrest with a silver paint marker), but otherwise it’s the wheelchair he’s always known her to have. He takes this in stride; he doesn’t really have another choice. “It’s fine, Janice. It didn’t hurt, just startled me a bit.” He smiles. He can’t remember the last time he saw Janice. The last time she and ‘Uncle Carlos’ had locked themselves away in a far corner of the house to work on experiments together while ‘Uncle Cecil’ made dinner.

Janice shares none of his excitement. She wheels herself a few inches back, dangerously close to the edge of the sidewalk. “How do you know my name?”

It shouldn’t hurt.

He should have known.

Stupid, _stupid_ Carlos.

It’ll be months, _months_ , before Cecil asks this time’s Carlos to meet his niece, the one he talks about so highly, the one he loves so much.

He doesn’t understand why he has to blink so hard to keep the tears from falling.

“I… uh…” He can’t think of anything. He has no excuse. He knows it won’t matter.

“You’re that scientist…” Janice says slowly, looking him up and down, tugging at one of her many dark pigtails. Now that he realizes, it's so obvious. She looks so much younger than he's ever seen her. “Uncle Cecil talks about you.”

Carlos swipes his palm beneath one eye, trying to catch the stray drops before she can notice. He smiles. “He talks to you about me?”

“Not to me,” Janice’s face falls, “He talks about you on the radio. I don’t get to see him much. No one does. He’s always working.”

He can’t do this. “I’m sure that’ll change. He loves you so much, you know. He’s so proud of you.”

“How do you-”

“Think about where you’re going, okay? Where you’re heading right now. I don’t want you to get lost because you forgot. Think about it right now.”

And he turns away. He wants to say something else. But he doesn’t have the strength. So he walks away. He hears her call after him, but only for a moment. When he glances over his shoulder, she’s already gone.


	5. October, 2013

This would be a lot easier if Larry Leroy could pay attention.

Carlos just needs to know about the sunshine.

Because John Peters (‘you know, the farmer?’ Carlos hears himself add automatically) knows about the doors.

The doors that let in that terrible light.

And Carlos needs to know if that light is already coming through. He needs to know if it’s already here, if he can try to stop it before it starts.

But of course, John Peters you-know-the-farmer is nowhere to be found. And Larry Leroy is his next best bet.

And Larry Leroy, bless his well-intentioned soul, _keeps turning away_.

They’ve started this conversation dozens of times, only to have him get distracted by a passer-by, starting them back at square one each time.

On the bright side, he’s looking back and forth so quickly, and so frequently, that he’s starting to remember small slivers. Carlos has asked about the sunshine so many times that after the eighth or ninth time, Larry remembers that they’ve discussed it. He can’t quite remember that they were _just_ discussing it, but he remembers that it’s happened.

That’s encouraging.

“What did you say your name was again?”

Carlos panics.

He doesn’t recognize him. Carlos thinks it through, and realizes he’s never really talked to Larry Leroy before. He’d come to assume that _everyone_ in Night Vale knew who he was, thanks to a certain loose-lipped radio host, but he must have been wrong.

But if Larry can remember bits of their conversation…

“Emmett.”

Emmett? Where the fuck had he come up with that? It was a knee-jerk reaction; apparently it’s the first name he can think of. Because if Larry can remember ‘sunshine’, he might remember ‘Carlos’. And he can’t have that. Cecil will hear about this. Which means this time’s Carlos will hear about this. So Carlos needs to be someone else. Apparently, he needs to be Emmett.

They’ve barely started over the conversation. For the thirteenth time. Carlos is starting to get the information he needs.

And a truck drives by, honking its horn. Someone leans out the window to yell a greeting at Larry. He turns to wave, and yell back.

Round Fourteen.

“Sorry, what did you say your name was again?”

“Everett, but that’s not important.”

“Everett? Huh. I could’ve sworn it was something else…”

Well, fuck.

This is why Carlos doesn’t lie. He can’t keep track of his own mouth.

Carlos manages to keep Larry’s attention for an entire conversation this time, occasionally having to physically hold his attention by snapping his fingers when distractions arrive. It feels rude, but necessary. He’s already afraid of what this is doing to Larry’s mind. He has no idea what he will and won’t remember.

He finally hears what he needs. It isn’t very helpful, but he knows it’s all he’ll get. Carlos thanks him for his time (knowing he took significantly more of it than Larry expects), and gets ready to move on.

“Hey, I just realized, aren’t you that scientist fellow-?”

“No, I told you, my name is Ernest.”

Wait…

Fuck. **  
**


End file.
